I'LL NEVER TELL
by MistressLynell
Summary: POST 4x23 "The look he gave me let me know that I was dead. It was so dark and dangerous that fear actually struck my heart. Forgetting his deal with Klaus to keep me safe, Damon Salvatore looked ready to cause some major bloodshed." Katherine's drunk and Damon's an unwilling caretaker. DATHERINE - Rated T for language and mild nudity.


**I'LL NEVER TELL **

..

_The truth is never far behind… You kept it hidden well. If I live to tell the secret I knew then, will I ever have the chance again? _

_If I ran away, I'd never have the strength to go very far. How would they hear the beating of my heart? Will it grow cold? The secret that I hide… Will I grow old? How will they hear? When will they learn? How will they know?_

..

I was two glasses in when I heard him approach. He wasn't subtle about it, either. As if though trying to make an entrance or an impression, he strode into the parlor like he owned the place (which, technically, he did) and I could see him cross his arms from my peripheral vision. I didn't acknowledge him. Not at first. I guess he thought that I would say something, so a few pregnant beats of silence passed between us. Well. Either he was waiting to see which one of us would "break" first or he was assessing my situation. I didn't even want to imagine what he saw when he was looking at me right now. The old Katherine would have _never_ been caught **dead** like this in front of Damon Salvatore. But as I was half-way finished with my third glass of whiskey, my stomach churning from my efforts, I realized I didn't really give a damn how I looked. At 3:30 in the morning, a woman had the God-given right to look however the hell she wanted to look. Even if how she chose to look was a petite heap of a woman in yoga pants, a crummy sweatshirt, with a tear-stained face and puffy eyes all wrapped up in a teenage boy's black skull blanket that stunk of corn chips and soda like a burrito.

"Well aren't we adorable?"

His voice was dripping with sarcasm and I didn't even have to look at him to know that boyish grin was plastered on his face. If I had the strength still, I would have slapped it right off of him. But even the meager strength left to me as a human had dwindled to nothing after the amount of alcohol I'd ingested. I wasn't sober, but I was still aware that going up against a 173 year old vampire could _not_ be considered a good idea. Plus, was he really worth the effort? Knowing Damon, if I ignored him enough… He'd go away. Not for any measurable amount of time, of course. So, instead of answering, I just took another drink. When I'd first started this plight to alcohol poisoning, it had been 2:15. An hour and fifteen minutes later, I was nearly half a bottle down. The results of the alcohol dribbled down my chin and across my chest, dripping to the blanket.

"Oh, come on!" Damon groaned as he stepped closer towards me. "Not on the couch!" His hand found my chin before I had time to pull away, and he pinched it hard between his fingers to make me look up at him. I glared hard in his direction, swallowing what little whiskey made it to my mouth, and then clenching my jaw. My vision was muddled, but somehow those blue eyes penetrated right through. His brow was furrowed, but I couldn't read anger on his features. But what the hell did I know? Once I'd concentrated for too long, there was two of him. "Katherine?" he questioned now, a little more softly than before. His thumb ran along the direct line of dark skin across my cheek where the tears from earlier had fallen. I guessed the trail was still there and just the idea that he realized I'd been weeping made me tear my head away quickly.

"Get out of here, Damon…" I growled. Yes, it was his house… But this was _my_ time in the parlor. I thought I would have been safe here at this time of the morning. I'd even taken overly-active measures to be as quiet as possible when getting the bottle and the glass; I'd made sure there was no clinking or clanging of any sort. This was _my_ moment. This was _my _break down. He didn't get to witness this. No one did.

As I pulled away from him, the jerking motion caused more amber liquid to fall from my glass. Not thinking twice, I downed the rest of it to keep any more incidents from happening. My stomach revolted against the action and I gagged, heaving forward. The vampire in front of me jumped back as I did so, but I refused to wretch up everything I'd drank and so I put a hand over my mouth and waited for the sick feeling to pass. I also silently hoped that my pathetic and gross display would send a hefty message to the man and he would leave me to it. Instead, he stayed just a few feet in front of me and when I opened my eyes I could see the dark denim of his jeans. I groaned at myself and at his persistence. "Not so easy being an alcoholic when we're human, is it?"

Another sarcastic remark from the Salvatore, and I'd had it. I glared up at him with my hazed vision before I threw the fleece blanket off of my lap and uncurled my legs from the cushions, forcing them down to the floor beneath me. Standing up, I only faltered once before shaking my head. I realized then just how drunk I really was. "Bite me." With that, I had every intention of going somewhere, _anywhere_ that wasn't here. With him. Though I enjoyed his company when I was in the mood to bait and antagonize, I did not want him anywhere near me right now. I didn't want anyone near me right now. So I turned, but by the time I was headed in the direction of the exit of the parlor, he was in front of me. So fast he appeared that I was nearly knocked back by the surprise. No. Not nearly. I _was_. I fell to my ass after I wavered. Angry now – _and_ humiliated – I looked up to the blue-eyed devil with as much hate as I could muster. "God damn it! Why can't you leave me the _fuck _alone?!"

The look he gave me let me know that I was dead. It was so dark and so dangerous that fear actually struck my heart. Forgetting his deal with Klaus to keep me safe, Damon Salvatore looked ready to cause some major bloodshed. I regretted my words, but I wouldn't let him know that. Instead I just watched as he crouched down in front of me, the knuckles of his right hand against the floor. I winced, visibly, waiting for him to pounce. His left hand came to wrap around the back of my neck and I waited for the bones to start cracking. "Do it," I urged him on in an almost silent whisper. The grip on my neck tightened and I closed my eyes. Then, with a simple flick of his wrist, he pulled me up to my feet again and his large hands fell to either side of my shoulders, gripping tightly. I couldn't help but look confused.

"Food. Now." He didn't waste another second before he pushed me towards the direction of the kitchen. Dazed and uncoordinated, all I managed to do was fall back, preparing to bust my ass again. This time, however, I was caught and lifted with a clearly aggravated groan.

I squirmed in his arms, not at all pleased with my placement there. I fought him like a wild cat. "Let go of me Damon! NOW!" I pushed against his shoulders and then his chest, beating him repeatedly. His jaw clenched, but he didn't let me go. He also didn't stop his trek to the kitchen, either, as I lay like a stubborn child in his arms. "GET. OFF. OF. ME." My screams didn't work, either. So finally, just like a wild cat would, I raised my nails to his face and raked them across his cheek.

"FUCK!" he screamed, and dropped me to the ground. I fell against it with a solid "Oof!" My stomach turned upside down and I had to lay against the cool hardwood to try and settle it. The reprieve didn't last long, however, before he blurred me back up to my feet and then up against a wall. My back hit it so hard that I knew I would bruise. _Now_ he was angry, even though the marks on his face I'd left had already healed. "You think I'm going to let you do this?!" He was screaming at me now. His lips were only mere inches from mine, and they were what I focused on to keep from passing out as my head swam from all the movement I'd just endured. "You think I'm going to let you drink yourself to death, _Katherine_?! I made a deal. I keep you safe for Klaus, out of New Orleans where your Original boy-toy could be seduced into saving you again, and I don't have to deal with any of that fucked up family for the rest of my life! You die and it's _my_ ass on the line. _Elena's_ ass on the line!"

"GOOD!" I screamed back. The name of my lesser-self spilling from his full lips as I stared at them started a whole new fire in me. For months I'd been dealing with that whole element; the whole idea of Damon and Elena. On top of everyone else who seemed willing to lay it all on the line for the little brat. I continued on with my muddled screaming. "Because let's face it, Damon, the only time you two work is when there's danger. You'd be nothing without it. I hope Klaus comes and tears the undead heart from her chest and-" I didn't have time to finish my sentence. I was thrown against a different wall this time, without his hands for support. I crashed to the floor in a puddle of spit and hair, my palms against the hardwood. How I was still conscience, I didn't know. I didn't want to be. I just wanted to sleep… Wanting to cave into myself, I lay against the floor and closed my eyes.

Again, I felt myself lifted. "Oh, no you don't." He heaved me over his shoulder like I was a sack of feed. I didn't fight this time. Instead I just put my full weight against him, even though I knew that wouldn't faze him in the least. "You're not getting off that easy, Katherine." He was still growling at me, his hands digging so tightly into my legs that I could feel it even through the numbness of the whiskey. "Nice try, though."

I didn't speak again until I was tossed to the stool at the kitchen island. I caught myself on the end of the counter to keep from sliding off, and then just laid my head against the cool surface. I hated this. I hated all of this. "Please, Damon. Just… stop." I just wanted him to leave me alone. I wasn't trying anything… I had just wanted some peace and quiet. I just wanted to break in peace. "Where's the bottle?"

He ignored me. Instead I heard the refrigerator open and soon I was face to face with a large container of… something. It didn't smell appetizing. In fact, the smell made me gag worse than the whiskey had and I pushed myself away from the red-lidded container and ran for the sink where I ducked my head and hurled so hard it hurt my already aching body. I hadn't eaten anything that I remembered, so it was basically all whiskey that came back up, making my throat burn as badly as it had done when I drank it. I continued on with my stomach's plight to purge itself before I fell weakly to my knees against the cupboards and closed my eyes, groaning. Tired beyond belief now, I only barely sensed the same offending idiot kneeling next to me.

"Feel better?" he quipped.

I didn't respond. I opened my eyes slowly to look at him before shaking my head and trying my best to put as much space between me and him as I could. "If you had just left me on the couch, none of this would have happened." And that was the truth.

He was apathetic, deadpanning as he spoke. "If I had left you on the couch, I would have come down the stairs later to find you drowning in your own vomit." And that was also the truth. I didn't respond. I just shifted to the corner where the two sides of the counter met and rested my head in the small niche, staring at him. "What were you thinking, Katherine?"

"I wasn't." I answered before I could fully think over my words. "I just… I couldn't sleep."

"Nightmares again?"

Freezing, I stared at him for a long moment. How did he know about the nightmares? How did he know that every night I tried to sleep I was plagued by the horrible images of my _previous_ human life? Was _he_ the one who was pinning them on me? Making me relive the pitiful existence I tried _so_ hard to forget after all these centuries? Was he the one making me fight with Katerina Petrova _every single night_? Anger rose in my chest, my cheeks going even flusher as I scrambled upwards to my feet. I thought maybe I'd be sick again, but I was too angry. "You're doing this to me?!" I yelled, gripping the handle of the counter drawer so tightly that I thought it might snap in my small palm. "You're giving me those dreams, making me go through that night after night?!" Without thinking (as were most of my actions done now) I lunged forward at him, now fully intending to maul off his face. I didn't care if he was stronger… I most certainly was angrier. "How _**could**_ you?!"

"KATHERINE!" he bellowed, his hands on my arms again, holding me off as I tried to get through to pierce his skin. "No! I haven't done a _fucking_ thing to you!"

"Then how did you know?!" I argued back, still fighting, tears now streaming down my face. I didn't care. For some reason, I began to think I wasn't going to survive this night (early morning?) anyway. "You don't get how badly it hurts, do you?!" I yelled. "Over and over again, watching him take her from me! I knew you hated me, Damon, but this?! Why?!"

His jaw clenched. In the blink of an eye he turned me so that my back was against his chest and my arms were pinned to my side. I continued to fight him. I would _always_ continue to fight. "Everyone hears you screaming!" he roared into my ear. "Every night. Bulgarian, right? Your _native_ tongue? We hear it, Katherine. We know what's going on, but nobody is doing that to you but _yourself_! Now stop fighting me!"

I did stop fighting him. In fact, I stopped… everything. Realizing that he was right and knowing that it was my own mind torturing me every night made me go still in his arms, tears streaming down my face like a child. A child… My child? I couldn't think straight anymore. I just wanted to sleep. I wanted to sleep for one night and not deal with those nightmares, those mutilated memories of my past. So, shutting down, I just fell limp. "Son of a bitch!" That was the last thing I heard before I finally got my wish.

.

.

.

I didn't wake up slowly. The sound of rushing water filled my ears and a cool sensation against my cheek brought me right to semi-alertness. I lifted my head up quickly, and then – just as quickly – realized that was a mistake. I groaned and squeezed my eyes shut against the halogen lights that seemed to be everywhere. Pressing my small palm to my head, I realized I was still very, _very_ drunk. And… fuck.

The cool surface that I'd been leaning against was – thankfully – a toilet. Throwing open the lid, I leaned over it to hurl once more. It hurt so bad that I wanted to cry, but I decided against it and instead just spit one last time before falling back. It was then that I was acutely aware that I wasn't alone as two hands curled up under my arms and brought me to my feet. In the mirror to my right, I could see that Damon was _still_ there, _still_ ever-present at one of the lowest points of my life. I was too weak to fight him, however. Instead I just wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and leaned forward to flush the toilet.

"I just want to sleep…" I pleaded pathetically. The shower was running and Damon's hands were at the waistband of my sweatshirt, tugging it over my head. "What are you doing?"

He didn't look at me while he went to work undressing me down to my panties and bra. His brow just furrowed again as he tried to do it as quickly and, to my surprise, as gently as possible. "I can't let you go to bed yet and you're covered in your own vomit." He threw my clothes to the side before giving me a no-nonsense look. "Shower. Now."

I was much more acquiescing to the shower than I had been to the idea of food. I turned towards the large glass stall of the shower, quickly realizing that it was _his_ shower, and entered. I found the water almost immediately and placed my hands against the wall while the hot water – _too_ hot water- fell on my face. I placed my forehead against the wall afterwards, just wanting to rest, and I closed my eyes. The next thing I knew, I was being jerked backwards and I groaned at the arm around my stomach. "You need to stay awake, Katherine!" Damon bit out, making me face the water spewing out of the shower head. I sputtered and choked before running a hand against my face to clear the water.

"I'm awake!" I argued. But it was a lost cause, because I could already feel the drowsiness setting back in. He jerked me again, this time with a tug of my hair and I fell back against him. He was clothed, and for some reason this made me smile.

"Talk to me," he demanded as he kept me upright in the water, his hand helping to wipe the water from my face. "Usually I can't get you to shut the fuck up. So c'mon, Kitten. Start talking."

I was still smiling, despite myself. "Now Damon. If I remember correctly, there was a full 145 years where you didn't hear a _thing_ from me." Why was I baiting him? I must have been sobering up because I felt the need to push him away coming back full force. He stopped his hand movement and I could practically hear him scowl. Damon had taken the bait and with a hard push, he separated away from me and stepped out of the shower in his now-soaked clothes. "I did love you, you know!" I called out as I slid down against the shower wall, the water making the fabric of my lingerie very uncomfortable. I had my back to where he was standing, my eyes closed, and my head against the tile wall. I probably looked just like a child, but I didn't care. "Just so you know…" I whispered.

At my side in an instant, Damon took my chin between his fingers and jerked it upwards, forcing me to look at him. I did so with a blank expression. "Then why, Katherine? Why did you let me think you were trapped for a century and a half? Why did you not come to me, not _tell_ me? Why did you tell me that you didn't love me?"

So. The blue-eyed man was going to take advantage of my weakened state, my lackluster mind? That was fine. He should hear all of this, anyway. There was no point in hiding it anymore. With the best look of determination I could muster, I shifted and leaned my back against the tile while the water fell on top of us both. His wet hair fell in his face, making me wish I could reach out and touch it. "You were supposed to let me go." I swallowed hard. "But you didn't. But do you think I really never knew where you were at? You were looking for ways to save me, spewing my name everywhere you went, Damon! You became another one I was running from, and the only way to stay one step ahead of your _enemy _is to know where they are at all times." He glowered. I continued. "You think I didn't _care_? You think I didn't watch out for you? I knew what I had done to you was wrong. And there were plenty of times where I saved your _ass_."

"Name once," he retorted.

I finally pulled my face from his tight grip. "Italy 1879. Salem 1933. Bridgeport 1852…" Looking at him, I gave him the smallest of humorless smirks. He was giving me an unreadable stare, clearly looking for something to say. Damon Salvatore being speechless may have been a miracle to others, but I'd rendered him as such multiple times. "Oh yeah, Damon. There have been plenty of times where you didn't even know you were in danger that I've been there. I may have kept closer tabs on Stefan, but you were both supposed to be my forever boys." I closed my eyes and allowed my head to loll to the side a bit. He jerked me awake and I groaned, stiffness spreading through my entire body. "Please, please… Either kill me or let me go to sleep."

He wasn't having it. He sat me back upward with a tough jerk and forced me to look at him again. I scowled, but his dark look was more intimidating. "Why are you telling me this _now_?"

"Because it doesn't matter anymore." And that was the truth. With everyone else we'd all endured, what happened in 1864 and up to now was moot. Plus it would always be Stefan in my mind. "But not because I loved him more. No. I just loved him differently." It registered with me that I was answering my own thoughts, but I didn't care. "I saw you change, Damon. And when I came back and I had to choose between you and Stefan, I knew that the world didn't need another person like you or me. Not another damn one." After that I began mumbling in Bulgarian, something to the effect about what my mother would tell me when I was a child about the world and what is good and what is evil. I shivered and closed my eyes, knowing that I risked being shaken again. This time, however, I wasn't. Instead, I felt Damon lift me and we left the shower as one unit.

He was breathing hard; I could feel it through his chest. He was so cold and it felt good against my head, so I laid it against the soaked threads of his black t-shirt. "I didn't sign up for babysitting duty when we agreed to take you in, Katherine." His words were mean, but his tone was light. He seemed so far away that I didn't even register the words until I felt the towel at my legs and my hair, and the bed beneath my back.

The sudden comfort that came as he stripped me of my wet lingerie and I fell into the crispness of the sheets was bittersweet. Tears sprung to my eyes once more as I lay there, the night's events beginning to fade from my mind. I tried to make no noise, not wanting to draw his attention. But something told me he knew that I was crying; he was just pretending not to see it. He made his way to my end of the bed and placed a glass of water on the nightstand before sitting down with his back to me and ran a hand over his face. He was tense, the muscles in all areas of his body completely on edge. I reached out before thinking and stroked his back, withdrawing my hand when he visibly flinched. "None of this would have happened if you'd just left me on the couch." I repeated my earlier sentiment.

I expected anger. What I got was a quickly changed Damon sliding into the bed next to me, staring at me with such a piercing hardness that it made my cheeks flush with wonder. Then after an aggravated sigh left his lips, he hoisted me closer. This was wrong, and he knew that. This was wrong, and I didn't care. I settled in against him, closing my eyes and inhaling the scent of cotton from his new t-shirt. He stroked my back and – ironically – I now found myself fighting sleep. It didn't work.

That early morning I found myself dreaming of 1864. Much better dreams than I'd been plagued with months before.

After that incident, I never asked Damon if he was responsible for the change of my subconscious wonderland.

And he, of course, never told me.

**/FIN. **

..

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **I do not own _'The Vampire Diaries_.' The lyrics from the beginning header are from Madonna's "Live to Tell." Reviews are always appreciated.


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